


That One With The Shotgunning

by Charlie Snow (Algedonic)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crushes, Kissing, M/M, Marijuana, Schmoop, Shotgunning, Sibling Incest, Smoking, Tickling, Touching, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Algedonic/pseuds/Charlie%20Snow
Summary: Dean finds out Sam gets handsy when he's high.





	That One With The Shotgunning

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on Tumblr](http://topbuckys.tumblr.com/post/86148818189/there-arent-very-many-things-that-dean-doesnt)

There aren’t very many things that Dean doesn’t know about Sam at this point. He knows that Sam is bitchy first thing in the morning and that he likes having his hair pulled and he’s probably the smartest 16-year-old on the planet, but he didn’t know this.

Sam gets very tactile when he’s high.

It went like this: Dad was out of town. Dean had won a couple joints in a game of pool. Sam had found them in a crushed Marlboro pack in the back pocket of Dean’s jeans while he was doing laundry.

“Dean, what the fuck,” Sam says, dropping the pack on the table, and Dean looks up from his book.

“What the fuck what, Sammy?” He’d given up telling Sam not to curse a long time ago.

“Since when do you smoke?” Sam asks, crossing his arms and scowling.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Since hardly ever. You’d know if I smoked, Sammy, trust me. Look inside.”

Sam looks at him skeptically, but opens the box just the same, fishes around in the pack with his fingers.

“Is this-”

“Yep,” Dean says, snatching the joint out of Sam’s fingers, and Sam grins.

“Can we smoke it? I’ve never.”

“Hmmm,” Dean hums, hooking his fingers in Sam’s belt loops and tugging him forward until he gives in and settles on his lap, “I dunno, they say smoking marijuana at your age permanently affects your brain development. Wouldn’t want to be a bad influence.”

“Pretty sure it’s too late for that,” Sam says, nipping at Dean’s jaw, “I promise, I don’t mind. Please?”

“ _Rude_. How am I supposed to say no to you when you’re doing that?”

"You’re not.” Sam says, fingertips skating up Dean’s ribs and kissing a line down his throat. “And besides. You didn’t want to say no anyway, or you wouldn’t have told me to open the box.”

Dean grabs Sam’s chin and pushes him back, watches the way Sam grins a little and licks his lips, looking entirely too self-satisfied. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

Sam’s grin widens. “I know.” He ducks forward, kisses Dean quick before climbing off his lap, snatching the joints off the table, and heading for the bedroom.

He coughs the first time, and Dean laughs at him. Sam’s doubled over with his eyes squeezed shut coughing like he’s dying, and Dean’s just  _laughing_  at him. He finally gets it under control and glares, and Dean just grins at him.

“Stop that,” Sam manages, voice rough.

“I can’t. You’re cute.”

“Fuck off. Am not.”

“You really are,” Dean says, crossing his legs and shifting around so him and Sam are knee to knee, mirroring each other. “Come here, you’ll like this.”

Sam scoots closer, and Dean wraps his free hand around the back of Sam’s neck and says, “follow my lead.” Dean brings the joint to his lips, inhales and holds. Sam goes easily when Dean draws him in, tilts his head when Dean guides with his thumb, parts his lips when Dean lines their mouths up. Sam’s not stupid, figured out pretty quick what Dean was going for, and isn’t really surprised when his mouth fills with the taste of weed and Dean’s mouth.

Sam doesn’t cough this time, smoke going down easy. He lets his eyes slip shut and holds it for a second, lets it out slow.

“Good?” Dean asks, rubbing little circles behind Sam’s ear with his thumb.

Sam grins and opens his eyes. “Yeah. Really good. Again?”

They go again. And again. Dean gives him the smoke from his lungs and Sam’s head spins and swirls and he can’t help thinking that they keep finding new ways to get inside each other, new ways to blur what little space stubbornly remains between them and he likes that, likes that a  _lot_.

“Stop thinking so loud,” Dean says, lips brushing Sam’s temple.

Sam’s loose and buzzing and Dean feels  _good_ , better than usual and he thinks they need to do this more often.

“We need to do this more often.”

Dean chuckles and pulls back, holds the joint out and says, “C'mon, Sammy. Gotta finish what you start.”

Sam doesn’t bother taking it, just wraps his lips around the damp paper and pulls, drags deep and rolls with the burn in his lungs. Dean’s stubble is rough against his palms and Sam gets distracted for just a second at the feel of it before presses his lips to Dean’s and breathes out.

It’s strange, feeling Dean pulling the air from his lungs; a little exhilarating, even.

He’s not surprised by the whimper that escapes him when Dean pulls away. Like at all.

Dean exhales on a chuckle and runs his thumb along Sam’s bottom lip. “You’re so easy.”

Sam doesn’t care. He wants Dean’s mouth back. “Kiss me.”

Dean pecks him on the lips, gone before he’s even really there and Sam makes a noise that he thinks counts as indignant. Dean laughs and brings the joint to his lips again.

Thing is, Dean’s gorgeous. And he…  _feels_  good. Sam doesn’t know how it happened, but his hand is up Dean’s pant leg and the hair on his calf is soft as fuck and Sam really likes the way it feels on his fingers, refuses to let go when Dean tilts his chin up and feeds him more smoke and Dean’s got hair other places too, like the line of it on his belly and Sam wants to feel that too, so he does. Slips his hand up Dean’s shirt and splays his fingers out on Dean’s belly and runs his thumb up and down the little trail.

Dean kisses him again and Sam sighs happily. “You’re such a freak,” Dean says, fondly, and Sam shrugs.

“Yeah, well. You’re wearing pants. No one’s perfect.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with my pants?”

“They’re covering up your legs. I’m gonna take them off I think.”

He’s not very good at pants. Dean hands him the joint and Sam hits it while Dean shimmies out of them and tosses them onto the floor. “Better, princess?”

“Much,” Sam licks his lips and gets his hands on Dean’s thighs, slides his palms from Dean’s knees up to his hips and back down again. Dean’s sitting there in boxer briefs and a t-shirt and nothing else, lips grinning all pink and swollen from the kissing and the smoking and Sam fucking loves him, kind of wants to feel every inch of him, taste them, maybe.

Dean gives him another hit and Sam doesn’t know if he needs more or not but he’ll take whatever Dean gives him, honestly. “Hardly fair that I’m the only one without pants, Sammy,” Dean says into his mouth when he breaks away, and yeah, Sam doesn’t need pants.

“Take ‘em off, then.”

Dean pushes him onto his back and Sam should have been expecting that. He helps as much as he can, which mostly just means lifting his hips when Dean tells him to, and then they’re both not wearing pants and Dean grabs his wrists and pulls him back up and it kinda makes him dizzy, a little bit.

“Whoa,” Sam says, and then presses his mouth to Dean’s and slips his hands up his shirt to get the world back in order.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, wiggling a little as Sam traces lines up and down Dean’s sides with his fingers.

“Touching you,” he looks up at Dean and licks his lips and grins a little. “I like touching you.” Dean’s solid and warm under his hands and it makes Sam feel all full and happy that he gets to do this, gets to just touch him for no reason, whenever he wants, and Dean lets him.

Dean scoots in until their knees are touching, draws little patterns on Sam’s legs with his fingers. “Joint’s almost out,” he says, and brings it to his lips again.

“S'okay. Pretty sure I don’t actually need more.”

Dean smiles, eyes all crinkly and cute and maybe Sam doesn’t need more but Dean’s leaning in and it’s  _Dean’s mouth_  and Sam will take it.

He feels heavy and warm and good and Dean’s smiling all easy and lazy and god, he looks so good like this. Dean stubs out the joint on an empty coke can and Sam leans in and presses a wet kiss to his neck, just 'cause. “I like you,” he says, and that’s a dumb thing to say but it’s true and it’s out there already so Sam just rolls with it.

Dean chuckles and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair which  _whoa_ , he should probably never stop doing that ever. “I won’t hold it against you. I’m awesome.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he slides his hands back around Dean’s waist. “But yeah. You are. I like you. I’ve got a big dumb crush on you and it’s ridiculous cause you’re my brother and we’re already fucking but I can’t help it.”

Dean smiles and his cheeks are a little pink and Sam doesn’t know if it’s from him or the weed or the fact that the room seems really warm but he likes it, wants to feel it. He touches Dean’s cheekbone and Dean turns his head, nips at his fingers and grabs his arm, kisses his palm, his wrist, the inside of his elbow.

“Wanna hear a secret?” Dean asks, and Sam wants to hear every secret Dean’s got.

“Yeah.”

Dean wraps his hand around the back of Sam’s neck and pulls him in, nips at his earlobe before he whispers, “I’ve got a big dumb crush on you, too.”

Sam grins, and then Dean’s hands wander down to his sides, dig in a little under his ribs and it tickles so he laughs, tries to pull Dean’s hands away but he’s got noodle bones and Dean’s relentless and then he’s laughing too hard to do anything, really, except gasp and squirm and try to roll away, try to catch his breath as Dean’s weight presses him down into the mattress and he tickles him and tickles him and doesn’t let up until Sam’s breathless with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Hate you,” Sam gasps, feeling twitchy and exhausted and  _awesome_.

“Liar,” Dean says and nips at Sam’s lips, the tip of his nose.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back. “Definitely.”

“You’re so fucking  _cute_ ,” Dean says, and Dean’s kissing him again before Sam has a chance to deny it.

“Am not,” Sam mumbles, distracted by the dip of Dean’s back under his hands, the curve of his ass.

“Are too,” Dean promises, and with Dean’s heat all around him, the shape of his body under his hands, Sam’s too content to argue.


End file.
